Terri Reed - Her Christmas Protector

“Goodness, I don’t think I’ve had this much to talk about in years.” Dottie beamed as Faith helped her settle back into a reclined position.

“Nor have I.” Faith fluffed the pillows beneath Dottie’s head. “You need some rest now. I’ll come back later and we can pick up where we left off.”

Dottie’s eyes were already closed. Unsure what she should do now, Faith wandered over to a window and stood gazing out at the expanse of land that made up the Circle C Ranch. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought she’d find sanctuary in the home of a cowboy.

Could it be possible that God was watching out for her after all?

“Have you found her?”

Vince glared with loathing at his older brother, Anthony, slouched in the leather chair facing Vince’s desk. He looked awful. Like he hadn’t showered or shaved in weeks. His hair was too long and his clothes ratty. Vince struggled to understand how they’d come from the same gene pool. “Not yet. I can’t believe your stupidity.”

“How was I supposed to know she’d divorce you and take off? I mean, what did you do to her anyway?”

Vince curled his fingers into a fist. “Nothing.”

“Something,” Anthony shot back.

Ignoring the barb, Vince asked, “What did you tell Fernando?”

“What you told me to. He said he’d wait until New Year’s Day. If we don’t return the money, he’ll kill us.”

Vince spread his hand on the desk and leaned forward. “He can kill you with my blessing.”

Anthony’s dark eyes held malice. “Just remember what I did for you.”

Vince swore and moved to the window.

They’d been teens, running with the other punks in the neighborhood, dealing dope, stealing what they could just for something to do. One night they’d knocked off a liquor store, but before they could get away, a cop showed up and caught Anthony. He’d gone to jail and never ratted on his baby brother.

Anthony never let Vince forget that if he’d had a rap sheet, he wouldn’t have been admitted into law school.

But after twenty years, that card was wearing thin.

“I’ll find her and get your money.” Vince turned toward his brother. “And then we’re even.”

Anthony stood and walked to the door, his tennis shoes leaving smudged tracks in the cream-colored carpet. “Yeah, whatever you say.”

After he left, Vince picked up the picture of his wife. “I will find you. And you will never leave me again.”

Luke couldn’t concentrate.

Every time he tried to focus on the paperwork lying on the desk, his mind conjured up the image of a cat-eyed blonde. Once again his curious nature wanted to know what was going on with Faith Delange.

He shouldn’t be spending time thinking about Faith. There was still so much to do on the ranch. He’d lost two hands last week because they’d wanted to find a warmer place for the winter. His foreman, Leo Scruggs, was having a hard time finding replacements. The roof on the house and one of the barns needed fixing and a llama would be birthing soon.

Ever since he’d returned to the ranch, his life hadn’t been his own. Every day he found himself becoming more like his father. And the more he enjoyed being a rancher, the more scared he became.

This wasn’t the life he’d wanted. He’d wanted excitement and adventure. At eighteen, he’d taken his desires to the Lord and had been steered toward the military. Knowing he’d had God’s blessing, Luke had applied and been accepted at West Point. The years there were grueling, exciting and character building. He’d walked away with a degree in engineering. But the military still beckoned, even after his five-year service obligation.

Now, he held the rank of captain and his position of authority gave him more opportunity to make a difference in the lives of his men. From the beginning, he’d felt he’d been called to share his faith with his comrades, and now Luke was looked to as a source of comfort and hope.

He’d worked alongside the chaplain to form a Bible fellowship study, and he was constantly awed by the power of Jesus’s love working in the men’s lives. He didn’t want to give that up.

He wished his father were still here.

Luke hadn’t known about his father’s cancer until nearly the end.

Your father is ill, the note had read, come home.

He’d arrived just in time to see his father before he’d died. Guilt for not having been there ate away at him. If he’d only been a better son and kept in better touch. He’d have learned of the illness sooner and come home. He’d have been able to make his dad’s final days easier.

And now, Luke was running his father’s ranch and dragging his feet about leaving when all he really wanted was to get back to his own life, his unit stationed in the Middle East. He only had another twenty days of leave left.

He fired up the computer and looked up Faith on Google. A list of articles came up. Mostly charity events where Faith and her grandfather were present. One photo showed Faith in a gray business suit standing beside her grandfather who sat in a wheelchair. He was old and hunched with strong features. The caption read, “The Delanges to start a foundation for overseas missions through a local church.”

Philanthropy, faith, family and money. What was she running from?

A soft knock sounded on the door.

“Come in.”

The door opened and Faith stepped in. He clicked off the web page.

“I don’t mean to bother you. But…well, your mother’s asleep and I don’t know what I should be doing.”

Luke hadn’t the foggiest what she should be doing now, either.

She smiled uncertainly.

Luke stood and moved around the desk. “I’ll show you to your room.”

Faith followed him. “I think this place is wonderful. So warm and cozy.”

“My parents have lived here since they were married. I don’t think Mom has bought anything new since.”

Faith stopped at the bottom of the stairs. Her finger traced a carving in the banister.

“Did that when I was ten. Dad just about blew a gasket.” He laughed slightly. “I can still remember how he lit into me, saying, ‘If you want to carve your name into a piece of wood, there’s a whole stack of firewood out back that you can carve up after you split it all.’”

“He sounds like he was a good father.”

“Yeah. Yeah, he was. Strict, but always fair. Even when we didn’t see eye to eye, I never questioned his love.”

But his father had questioned his son’s love. How many times had Luke turned his back on the advice and instruction his dad offered? Luke would give anything to have that time back, to show his dad how much he loved him.

“That’s wonderful,” she stated, wistfully.

“Did you question your parents’ love?” he asked.

Sadness entered her gaze. “My parents were killed when I was eleven.”

“That must have been tough. Who raised you?”

“My grandfather.”

“The one that had a heart attack?”

She nodded. “He passed on almost two years ago.”

“Have you been traveling since then?”

Her expression became guarded. Wary. “No.”

She moved away from him to stand beside her suitcases where he’d left them in the entryway.

As she bent to pick them up, he said, “Here. Allow me.”

Taking her bags in hand, he led her upstairs, entered the sewing room and breathed in the scent of gardenias, his mother’s favorites, perfuming the air. A dried bouquet of the white blossoms sat atop the dresser. He made a mental note to order fresh ones.

“This is lovely.” Faith walked in and surveyed the room. She gently brushed a hand along the black sewing machine resting on an old wooden table. “Your mother’s, I assume.”